A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. " Upon this he arose, and paced the room hastily backwards and forwards, as if further arranging his plans. "You poor child!—you can have all the dogs on the island, if you want them! Come along to the kitchen, and we'll give Rollo a tubbing. " "You'd better take care of your mother's son instead," rejoined Blueskin. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner.
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